Starless Skies A Phaseworld Adventure
by Irvin L. Jackson
Summary: A story set in Palladium Books' Rifts RPG, in the Phaseworld Dimension. A True Atlantean fighting for the Free World Council soon discovers that the quest for his heritage, freedom and a mythic artifact are one in the same.
1. Default Chapter

This is the prologue to Starless Skies, a novella based in Rift's Phaseworld dimension. Feel free to comment, but most of all, enjoy.

Phase World™, Naruni™, and Kreeghor™ are trademarks owned and licensed by Kevin Siembieda and Palladium Books, Inc."

starless skies - a phaseworld adventure

by Irvin L. Jackson, copywrite 2002

**Prologue**

Rivin Nebulo squirmed to get more comfortable in the seat of the aging Broadsword fighter. His armored flightsuit squeaked against the faux dragonhide seat as he craned his neck around in a complete circle, trying to loosen up.

"Alright gentlebeings, this is it," crackled the radio, filling Rivin's cockpit with the computer-washed voice of his wing commander. "Grey squadron is to take out the listening post's defenses, Green squadron will handle fighter interference and Black squadron will escort the shuttles to the objectives."

Rivin and the rest of Green squadron angled their twelve Broadswords into the front of the mass of ships rising from the night side of Charis IV, a lifeless, massive rock in the uninhabited Charis system. The converted supercargo hauler the Free World Council used as a carrier had already "jumped" outsystem to a safe point to await the signal to come pick them up. Behind the two squadrons of Broadswords and one squadron of Fire Eaters were three assault shuttles, a Proctor long-range fighter which held the fighter group's wing commander, and two heavily armored and armed Merchantman cargo ships which now functioned as pocket destroyers.

The Free World Council, a collection of about a hundred planets in the heart of the Transgalactic Empire, had been in open rebellion against the Empire for over a century. Their equipment was a motley collection of outdated equipment from the Consortium of Civilized Worlds (which not-so-covertly aided their cause) and anything they could buy from Naruni Enterprises or steal from the Transgalactic Empire. 

Over the last three months supply raids on Free World Council shipments by the Empire had grown increasingly successful and accurate. The Council's intelligence network only a week ago had discovered the detailed sensor suite located on a listening post orbiting Charis IV. If they could destroy the listening post that would make supply shipments far more secure. If they could take the facility intact…even better.

This was Rivin's first real combat mission. Sure, he had flown patrols and even had a kill to his name, but this was the first time he had been assigned to full offensive combat duty. He tried to downplay in his own mind the fact that the Council had been shuffling more and more pilots to frontline duty, due to losses. He liked to think they finally noticed his natural talent.

"Set shields to equal distribution," commanded Green Leader, a woman named Telana Dutch who, like Rivin, was human. "All fighters report in."  
Rivin pressed the comm button twice in rapid succession, which would make a slot on the command console in Commander Dutch's fighter light up, acknowledging he was ready. He listened and counted the double-clicks he could hear over the tactical net. His 3-D forward sensor monitor lit up, outlining a speck in the distance in a green laser box and expanding the box to show Rivin a fat cylinder, bristling with protrusions and dishes, a couple heavy cannons and weapon emplacements and three bulbous habitat modules.

"The Kreeghor never were much for aesthetics, were they?" One of the Green squad pilots quipped, mirroring Rivin's thoughts. 

"Pipe down, Green seven," Dutch bit. "Besides, looks like we got a couple other ugly examples of Kreeghor engineering to deal with. Pan left two degrees."

Rivin did as was ordered and the sensors locked onto three spiny, fish-like vessels. Rivin whistled in appreciation. Berserkers. Kreeghor missle frigates which were the terror of the space lanes. The three vessels were beginning to turn toward the onrushing fighters.

"Looks like they know we're comin'!" Dutch shouted. "Go to full burn and watch for enemy fighters."

The fighters in Green squad lurched forward, gaining speed exponentially as their thrusters kicked out white-hot plasma and used the gravity of the planetoid below to slingshot them even faster. The squadron formed three diamonds of four fighters each and split toward their selected cruisers. Grey squadron's less sleek, winged saucer-shaped fighter bombers, came in behind, making a wide arc toward the listening post in order to avoid fire from the three Berserkers.

Rivin watched the distance between the squadron and the Berserkers plummet at a ridiculous pace, the acceleration pushing him back into his seat. His hands gripped the control yoke tighter, and he flicked the weapon selector switch over to the gravity rail cannons.

As the fighters closed the gap on the three frigates, the frigates vomited a volumous amount of missles into the fighter group.

"Missle screen, now!" Dutch shouted over the tac-net to the three other fighters, including Rivin, in her four-fighter flight. The three fighters spread out a bit behind her and opened up with their gravity rail guns, sending bursts of 10-pound neutronium slugs accelerating into the oncoming missle swarm. Several of the missles exploded. Their explosions bloomed out, kissing other missles trying to pass them by and setting those missles off as well.

"Plow through! Plow through!" Dutch shouted as the entire storm of missles exploded in an expanding cloud of plasma that the fighters were plunging right into.

All twelve fighters pierced the rolling, seething, superheated cloud of incandescent gas, and came out safely on the other side, shields glowing softly from the particle storm released from the multitude of explosions. The lead Berserker filled the lead flight's viewports as the four fighter's neatly flipped over and ducked under the massive ship.

Rivin targeted the frigate's belly and leaned on the trigger to the fighter's dual gravity cannons in time with the rest of the flight. The rounds traced eight lines of fire across the underside of the frigate. As most Berserker captains tended to do, the ship's shields were all focused toward the front in order to absorb damage from any other enemy capital ships in the area, and sometimes, in order for a near-suicidal blitz on a weakened enemy cruiser.

"Go to missles!" Dutch shouted, fitting action to words as she let loose four plasma missles, no larger than a soda can, from the stubby "hilt" of the sword-shaped fighter. The rest of the squadron followed suit and soon the interior of the belly was alive with fire, heat and brief flashes of light. 

But the other two Berserkers, placed farther back, had fared better against the onslaught, their commanders equally distributing the shields across the entire ship. As Dutch was about to speak, the Wing Commander's voice came over the tac net with overriding orders.

"Green Flight One, those Berserkers are accelerating to engage the shuttles and the Merchantmen, focus your attacks on their missle batteries and shield generators."

"Alright, you heard the man! Reform on me and follow me in," Dutch brought her fighter in a tight over-head loop, flipping the fighter upright, relative to the Berserker at the apex of the loop. The rest of the flight followed suit.

Rivin flipped through sensor targets until a cruise missle battery on the enemy ship's hull was selected. He switched to plasma guns and locked on. The Berserker obviously detected the lock, either that or two gravity rail gun operators on board decided they just didn't like him. His cockpit was lit up with directed streams of ammunition. He reinforced his forward shields, and began to weave the fighter through the firestorm, dropping the fighter closer to the surface of the ship as he passed the massive engines. A couple shots scored hits on his shields, but they held.

As soon as he could visually see the cruise missle battery sitting on side of the ship's hull, he depressed the trigger. Twin orange streams flowed from his fighter instantly to his target, which blossomed into an argent ball of flame. He fired two more times, getting two more eruptions. Another fighter behind him made short work of the two gravity rail gun cannons and there were explosions from the other side of the frigate as well.

"Dammit, looks like we'll have to make another pa…look!" Dutch cried as her fighter arced over the bow of the frigate so close that the entire bridge crew must have ducked. The explosions from the cruise missle laucher continued to reverberate through the ship's hull. Somewhere inside, the burning ordinance from missle launchers adjacent to the gravity rail guns got together with the anti-matter warhead cartridge of cruise missle battery and had a little party. A line of fire split the frigate neatly into two pieces, the bow twisting to port and the still thrustering stern section ramming into it. Both pieces flashed white and soon space was littered with debris.

"That should even things out a bit!" the Wing Commander's grizzly voice, who Rivin realized he had never met nor knew his name, chuckled over the net." Liberty and Independence, move in to engage, but watch out for that Berserker missle rush. Black squadron flights two and three, peel off and form a missle screen for our cruisers. The rest of you, follow me in to that listening post!"

The other two flights of Green squadron, two fighters short, joined up with the lead flight. The concentrated group swept past the two Berserkers, who were too far apart to cover the sudden breach in their line made by the loss of their command ship.

"Grey squadron in firing range," came the hissing, inhuman voice of Grey squadron's Seljuk commander, "in four, three, two…oh frack!"

In a puff of dust and silvery particles one of the habitats on the listening post exploded outward, unleashing a swarm of at least 40 fighters. Three of Grey squadron's fighters were shot down before they could peel out by concentrated fire power and the squadron lost one more when a damaged Fire Eater smacked into one of the Kreeghor's expanding cloud of fighters.

The base's defenses added to the hellish storm of enemy fire as the bulk of the fighters formed up and rushed the oncoming rebels. The Wing Commander's gruff voice was like a salve of calm.

"Try to stay with your wingman and watch each other's back! Black flight One, form on me and escort those shuttles in. Green squadron make us a corridor!" 

The remaining ten fighters of Green squadron streaked out in front once again and opened up with a variety of lasers and gravity rail guns. The Kreeghor "Flying Fang" fighters answered with autocannons and missles. The tactical net sounded like a wrestling match as pilots grunted and groaned against the sudden g-forces exerted on their bodies as the fighters broke formation and mixed it up over the listening post. In the distance behind them, one of the Berserker's flared and died a brief, brilliant death, but a Merchantman, perforated by several dozen missle strikes, ejected what lifepods remained as Charis IV's gravity well welcomed it into an inevitably deadly embrace.

Rivin checked to see if his wingman, a grackletooth, young, like himself, was still with him and then peeled to follow a Kreeghor fighter racing toward one of the shuttles. He dropped in above and behind the weaving craft, knowing the pilot would have to pull back on the stick and arc the craft toward the shuttle at his current angle. When he saw the Fang fighter's missle pods open up, he opened fire with a storm of gravity rail rounds. The rounds formed a curtain of white-hot metal in front of the Kreeghor pilot just as he unleashed a swarm of plasma missles. The missles began detonating as soon as they cleared the fighter's shields, their explosions blowing the fighter out of its attack pattern and temporarily depleting its shields.

Rivin took careful aim with his plasma guns and unleashed a brutal storm of energy directly onto the fighter's cockpit. The pilot inside boiled alive long before the three consecutive blasts Rivin let loose pierced the bottom of the fighter and broke it into two neatly spinning pieces. Both of which tumbled lazily to either side of the assault shuttle.

Rivin and his wingman swept back around into the fire lane preceeding the approaching assault shuttles, the listening post growing larger and larger in their viewports. The two fighters juked a barrage of autocannon fire as they came behind Green leader and her wingmate. Green leader had lost one missle launcher and the two fighters were being harried by a pair of enemy fighters.

"Take the one on the left, I'll take the leader," Rivin said, banking his Broadsword behind the fighter dogging Green leader. His wingman double-clicked in acknowledgement and immediately began pouring laser fire into the back of the other enemy fighter. "Bring him to the left a little Commander…"

He saw Dutch's fighter sweep left, and the enemy craft swung to follow, but kept swinging left, not giving Rivin a chance to fire in the brief moment it passed through his targeting recepticle.

But Dutch took the opportunity to bank hard to the right and kick in her thrusters. In a rush to keep her in his sights, the enemy pilot banked to follow, and the broad wide top of his fighter passed right in front of Rivin's eyes. Rivin cut loose with a staggering rain of 32 mini-missles. Most detonated on the ship's shields but enough damage rolled over them and onto the fighter to send it spinning crazily into the side of the listening post. A large gash in the side of the ship vented precious atmosphere, and several hulking, humanoid shapes, into space for several moments afterward.

Then Rivin and Dutch were racing across the hull. Their two wingmen had swept under to the otherside and were peeling back around, having gotten the enemy fighter to overshoot.

The two sleek fighters skimmed the hull by mere meters, too close for the stations automated defenses to lock in on. Just as their two wingman swept over the hull to join them, Rivin's wingmate let out an inarticulate scream as several missles and a hail of energy pounded through his real shields and detonated his engine. The craft pitched wildly, and like it's namesake, plunged into a heavily armored section of the hull of the listening post. Rivin looked around desperately as four enemy fighters dropped in on the three remaining fighters' tails.

"Stay calm and take 'em toward that habitat module," Dutch ordered.

The three fighters juked and rolled, angling toward the far, mushroom-shaped protrusion where a large chunk of the post's crew likely lived. The enemy fighter's stuck to them tight, trying to close the distance and box the three fighters in with laser fire. 

Just as the module filled their viewports Dutch shouted "Green two break right, Green three follow me!"

The three fighters split up, Dutch and Rivin going left around the tower and Dutch's wingmate going right. The enemy fighters strained to follow, separating in twos. Just as Rivin was wondering how this would help them they came to the halfway point of the habitat module and saw Green Two and two enemy fighters facing them. Dutch and Rivin poured on plasma fire just as Green two pulled up hard away from the post's surface. "Go for the cockpits!" Dutch shouted.

Rivin bit back a comment about the futility of trying to blow through the front of the fighters' fully charged shields, but followed orders, bathing the cockpit area of the fighters in orange energy. Dutch did the same, despite the fact that the enemy shields were gobbling up the blasts greedily. 

"Now, hard up!" Dutch shouted, mere seconds later. Rivin strained to stay on her tail, passing over the two enemy fighters by less than a foot. Blinded by the stream of brilliant plasma fire, the two ships were unable to pull up before ramming into Dutch and Rivin's persuers. One of them skipped across the habitat module like a stone.

Rivin let out a loud whoop as Dutch chuckled and checked the status of the two other fighters left in her flight. "Good flyin' kid. We should have moved you up to the front lines a while ago."

Rivin grinned at the accolades as the flight yawed over the three-dimensional battlefield. He saw the three shuttles angling to attach themselves to sections of the post's hull as nine remaining members of black squadron harried the rest of the enemy fighters. The last merchantman, the Independence, limped into firing range, an expanding cloud of hot vapors all that remained of the last Berserker. There were only six fighters left in their squad.

The six fighters in Green squadron regrouped and dived back into the battle, strafing enemy fighters with coordinated autocannon fire. The Proctor-class heavy fighter commanded by the wing commander ripped its way through the enemy from the rear, minus its two cruise missles, which had been dispatched up the engines of the last Berserker, contributing greatly to its recent demise.

Only five of Grey squadron's Fire Eaters remained, and concentrated the last of their long-range missles on the last of the post's particle beam cannons. Several enemy fighters, morale broken, tried to flee, but the combined might of the three remaining squadrons cut them to ribbons. Then the fight was over. In space anyway.

Inside the listening post was a totally different story. The Free World Coucil marines fought corridor by corridor toward the post's bridge, the mostly human troops fared poorly against the stronger and naturally heavily armored Kreeghor defenders. However a few seljuks, huge saurian warriors endowed with incredible strength, a couple mages and psychics soon turned the tide. In about an hour, with heavy losses the listening post was under FWC control.

Out of the thirty-six fighters who had begun the assault, only twenty remained. Soon the converted carrier jumped in system and the fighters docked for refueling, rearming and repairs, while intel squads went over the Imperial base with a fine-toothed comb.

Once Rivin had docked with the massive carrier, he eagerly climbed out of the hot cockpit and yanked off the helmet to his black Naruni flight suit. Sweat plastered sandy brown hair to his head and his bones cracked as he stretched his six-foot two frame.

A heavy slap against his shoulder almost sent hin sprawling to the floor. He nearly drew the small laser pistol at his hip as he turned. But instead of an enemy he saw a huge wolfen, a race of canine, thick-furred humanoids, in a flight suit with wing commander insignia.

"You fight better than many of my vets pup," said the wolfen, giving Rivin a smile filled with razor-sharp teeth. "If Dutch isn't careful I might have to steal you away for Black Squadron…once you get a little more blood under your claws."

Rivin straightened up naturally and mumbled a clumsy thank you. The wolfen eyed him for a second more, intently, before a tech called him back over to his fighter. 

"Dugalan's right you know," said a smooth female voice from behind. "You are a natural."

Rivin turned to stare down at his squadron leader, Telana Dutch. Barely topping five feet, she had a compact, curvy frame that one didn't usually think of when you thought of fighter pilots. Rivin knew, however, that her small stature was no indication of her strength. Her accent placed her from Tarabin, a heavy gravity gas giant known for heavy metal mining facilities on its four moons. The higher gravity of the planet made its inhabitants stocky, but strong and tough.

"Just don't let it get to your head," she smiled, sauntering past toward the improvised showers for the flight crews. Rivin fell in step next to her, anxious to get out of the flight suit and into something looser and cooler. Anxious to wash the grit from his body and the screams of beings dying from his mind.


	2. A Single Spark

Chapter One: A single spark  
  
  
Artesia waited patiently in the shadowed corners of the vast, onyx chamber that served as the Great Hall of the Imperial Palace. She had been waiting for hours here, listening to the petty complaints and reports of high level governmental dignitaries, the aides of regional governors and military adjuncts. Their constant, boisterous tirade washed over her like turbulent waves smashing against an unmovable black pillar in a vast ocean.  
Smiling at the analogy, she absent-mindedly picked motes of lint off of her billowing lavender cape and royal blue tunic. Her jet-black skin melded effortlessly with the onyx walls and their deep carved bas-reliefs of Kreeghor victories and champions. If it were not for her flamboyant cape, tunic, short skirt and lavender boots, one could easily mistake her for a part of that wall.   
But instead, her very calmness and inconspicuousness seemed to draw attention to her, the only non-Kreeghor currently in the vast chamber that served as the Emperor's thrown room. None of the Kreeghor addressing His Majesty could walk by without giving her a withering stare. She knew the looks were to remind her of her race's subservient place in Kreeghor society, just as she knew that internally those who gave such stares worried about how much power she truly wielded…and if she could ever threaten theirs.  
They need not have worried, she thought, amused at the attention she was getting. She did not seek any of their annoyingly tedious duties or illusions of power. She was the third-highest ranking officer of the Empire's intelligence forces, with more true power than any other silhouette in the Kreeghor's expansive domain, and the power she wielded there was enough to satisfy any sane, sentient being she mused.  
Except perhaps for the being that sat upon the towering onyx and gold throne at the head of the room. She doubted that there was enough accumulated power in the universe to slate the hunger of Emperor Shardav the Third, lord and master of the Transgalactic Empire.   
Even hunched over, apparently bored, on his throne, the Emperor was an imposing mass of scales and muscle. Clad only in the finely crafted leg pieces and boots of his armor, the Emperor's massive 15-foot tall form dwarfed the other Kreeghor who came before him. He wore no crown, for he needed no true symbol of office. His power and influence was a tangible thing that permeated the air of the chamber. His eyes glowed softly with a power other Kreeghor could not comprehend. His voice reverberated, even when he whispered, so that it was heard even in the farthest part of the quarter-mile long chamber. Flanking him were two Royal Kreeghor, a subspecies of the reptilian race even more massive than others of their kind. They stood, statue-still to either side of the throne, power halberds at attention and energy rifles slung over their left shoulders.  
They, and the Emperor, had always disturbed Artesia in a way she could not grasp. Attuned to the supernatural and energies of a psychic nature, she felt emanations from the Emperor, his guards, and the rarely seen so-called witch who functioned as his advisor, which she could not explain and feared greatly.  
This Emperor had only been on the throne for about 20 years. He had replaced the previous Emperor after an untimely accident during an inspection of a new Doombringer Dreadnaught cruiser. Artesia had always suspected foul play, as had most others, and wondered what connection the assassination had with the sudden peace treaty that soon followed, ending a long, bloody war with the CCW. When Shardav had ascended to the throne, he was a normal Royal Kreeghor. Physically fit, to be sure, but certainly not the God-like being that sat there now. Artesia longed to know the secrets of such a startling and potent metamorphosis.  
She tore her eyes away from the being on the throne and assessed those left in the room. The crowd was thinning, and soon all that were left were two military advisors, both studying the massive, 100-foot holographic image of the Three Galaxies that dominated the air in the center of the Great Hall. At a summons from one of the guards, both beings stepped forward and kneeled before the throne. Artesia listened intently for about five seconds.  
More budgetary concerns, she sighed to herself, and let her mind wander again, trying to reach out with her attuned spirit to get a more firm grasp on the tendrils of energy which always seemed to pervade the chamber from some unknown source.  
It was a game she had played many times before, and she even sensed that she was playing against someone, or something. The tendrils of energy would lead her astray, bait her and tempt her as if they had an intelligence all their own. She sensed that whatever the source of power she felt, it had little to fear from her and sometimes toyed with her to amuse itself. She shuddered at the thought and turned her attention back to the throne, just as the two admirals left for their respective fleets.  
The Emperor turned toward her and nodded for her to come forward. Artesia gathered her courage and stepped before the throne and kneeled on one knee, head lowered, arms crossed before her breasts.  
"Most Powerful and Righteous Master of the Stars, your humble serv…"  
"Enough Artesia, tell me what brings you here this day," the Emperor sighed, voice dripping with boredom and menace.  
Artesia bowed once more and stood before her liege, who towered over her even when seated. With flourish she reached into her cape, slowing her hand considerably when she saw the fingers of one of the Royal Kreeghor twitch around the shaft of his halberd. She pulled out a data crystal and set it on top of a six-foot tall steel column in front and to the left of the throne.  
"My Master, yesterday morning at 0400 Imperial Time, a small fleet of Free…rebel ships…attacked listening post 631."  
"Indeed," the Emperor leaned back a little in his throne. "Was the base destroyed?"  
Artesia paused for a moment to consider her phrasing. "Eventually, yes. But investigations indicate there was a 45-minute lapse between the end of hostilities over the post and the actual destruction of the base."  
"Enough time to do a full computer core dump, is that correct?"  
"Very likely, My Master. The data crystal I have brought you is a recording of the details of the battle, as viewed from a hidden probe imbedded in the surface of Charis IV."  
The Emperor, contrary to being upset with the destruction of such valuable resources, smiled a feral grin that would have chilled the heart of a vampire. "Once again your insight into the rebels' thinking has been of service to the Empire. Your predictions of their response were exceedingly correct. Albeit they attacked the outpost a full two days earlier than you anticipated."  
"True My Master, and my apologies. It was inevitable that they respond in the manner they did. Their rebellion lives by its stomach and its ammunition, damage both and they will come running. They could not afford not to respond," she smiled.  
The Emperor was silent for a moment. "Then I shall await the rest of your predictions to come true as well. Report to me when it is clear they have taken the bait."  
With a wave, the Emperor dismissed Artesia, who bowed low and turned with a flare of her cape and strode out of the room. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the Kreeghor witch slink from the shadows to the side of the Emperor. In a small corner of her mind she felt those tendrils of power coalesce thicker than usual around the area she had just left.  
Not one to be flustered or to hurry, Artesia quickened her steps to be out of the Imperial Palace.  
After passing through numerous security checkpoints and a labyrinth of hallways, the intelligence officer stepped onto a hover-vator that would take her to the street below. Arrayed down the long main avenue she saw one of the near-daily military parades. At least three miles of Kreeghor armored units stretched into the distance, and she had caught the parade at least halfway through. Occasionally eclipsing the planet's primary were a quartet of Berserker frigates amidst a cloud of Fang fighters.  
She stepped out onto the street at last, and into the acrid, polluted air. She lifted a lavender, jeweled veil to cover her face and walked across the vast acreage of flattened verge that separated the palace from the rest of the city. Many would mistake the greenery as some sort of homage to nature or an attempt by the Kreeghor to be aesthetically pleasing. Artesia saw the field for what it was…a kill zone of flat land where any invading army could be mowed down.  
Now that she thought about it she wondered if that really were the purpose. More likely, she thought; if an invader smashed the planet's considerable orbital defenses they would probably use the field as a landing zone. So, she mused, the field was more likely to protect the Emperor from his own people…in case of an uprising.  
Crossing through the outer perimeter fence and finally onto the street, she stepped into a large black hover vehicle waiting for her. Next to her, waiting calmly in meditation, was one of the few Kreeghor who struck fear into her, besides the Emperor.   
The Kreeghor was dressed in black, loose-fitting clothes interwoven with metallic fibers. His cape was not so much black as a material or color that seemed to absorb light. He was not nearly as big as the Emperor, but his body was powerfully constructed, even for one of his race. On his belt were two long-swords and an odd, large pistol, all made of a smooth, glassy metal.  
The swords, Artesia knew, were keepsakes from two of his kills. Not just kills, she thought, but Cosmo-knights. Powered by an unknown mystical energy force, they were the knights-errant of the galaxy, able to propel themselves at superluminal speeds and capable of doing battle with a starship single-handed. The gun was stolen from a Cosmo-knight who, in a desperate attempt to get his weapon back, the Kreeghor beside her had tricked into breaking his cherished moral code, which had cost the being all of his power. She knew that this Kreeghor cherished that victory more than any other.   
Completing the simple outfit was a sparkling pendant, the Transgalactic Empire standard on a black, starry shield. The symbol of the Invincible Guardsmen: genetically altered super beings the Kreeghor had created to contend with the Cosmo-knights.  
However, the experiment was widely considered a failure by many, despite the fact that Invincible Guardsmen were some of the most powerful beings in the galaxy; they could not come close to matching a Cosmo-knight in sheer power.  
And the fact that he had defeated three of them made Axis "The Fang" Doombringer all that more impressive, and frightening, in Artesia's eyes.  
"Speak, Agent Artesia. What has our Great Emperor commanded," Axis said, never opening his eyes or leaving his meditative stance.  
"We are to proceed with the operation, and report to him when it is obvious the rebels have taken the bait," Artesia said, stretching out in the air-conditioned vehicle's ample room, removing the veil to breathe in sweet, scrubbed air. "There are many factors to put into motion, Lord Doombringer, and the rebels have already shown a penchant for being ahead of schedule…"  
"That is your failing Artesia. Your plans are brilliantly designed, but far too detailed. You walk the edge of the vibro-blade with careless abandon. One slip, and it will dice you in two," Axis said, finally opening glowing red eyes that bore into her. "Simple plans work best."  
"That may be true," Artesia said, straightening up in her seat, determined not to let her fear of this super being show. "But simple plans are usually the most transparent."  
"One pound of uncalculated cargo can throw even the largest battleship off course by light-years…if the distance traveled is far enough," Axis said. "It is always the little things that get forgotten."  
Artesia, not wanting to push the point, let it go at that. She signaled the driver and the vehicle floated into the spires of the city, out of the more affluent area and into the belching, blocky, crowded factories and slums that surrounded the capitol city for miles. Eventually the vehicle passed through a ring of planetary defense cannons surrounding the city and increased speed.  
In little over an hour the pair were aboard a Rain of Death transport and over the Imperial Homeworld. Soon after that the engines of the shuttle made a mockery of several of Einstein's theories, piercing the light barrier several hundred times over.  
  
  
Rivin awoke in his bunk with a start. His heart racing from a forgotten dream, Rivin drew his hand away quickly from where it had strayed to the flame-enshrouded sword tattoo on his left bicep.  
Sitting up amidst the tangle of sweat-soaked sheets, he looked across the small room to ensure he had not disturbed the sleep of his other three roommates. A pale blue light cast eerie reflections throughout the room, radiating from a small porthole in the outer bulkhead. Rivin silently padded over to the transparent titanium oval and looked out onto the vast expanse of stars.  
The sources of the azure glow was a line of seemingly solid energy cutting through space, like a laser that had decided not to fade. A ley line. Rivin knew it was rare to see one of the pathways of magical energy that bisected the galaxy radiating so strongly. Usually, they were invisible to the naked eye.  
Well, some could see them clearly, those who were more tuned into the magical energies of the universe. Rivin knew very little about his odd heritage, but assumed this was something else that set him aside from most other humans.  
Rivin was, according to his adopted mother, a member of a sub species of humanity who called themselves True Atlanteans. The race had once been the members of the most advanced and powerful nation on what they claimed to be the true human homeworld, a place as far as Rivin knew, that had been lost to antiquity and had faded into hazy legend. According to his step mother, True Atlanteans mastered the powers of magic and dimensional travel and in their arrogance embarked upon a titanic magical experiment that scattered their race among the multiverse and sapped their homeworld of magic, shutting it off from the rest of the universe for all time.  
Rivin had read here and there about True Atlanteans, and had been surprised to learn that there were conclaves in the United Wizards of Warlock, a magic-based empire in the Anvil Galaxy. Besides that concentration, the bulk of the True Atlantean race wandered numerous dimensions and planets, fighting evil wherever they went in an attempt to atone for their own sins of arrogance.  
It was a nice legend, but one which Rivin didn't put too much stock into. Certainly, the tales of True Atlanteans' magical tattoos were true, Rivin's own flaming sword tattoo became a real, well-balanced indestructible sword that could cut through nearly any substance in the universe simply by him touching it and concentrating. Rivin also had a tattoo of a heart impaled by a stake and one of two swords crossed. He had "activated" the other tattoos out of curiosity when he was younger, but although he felt a surge of energy, nothing noteworthy appeared to manifest itself.  
As for the sword, it was somewhat nifty, and he knew that swords were often preferred in combat inside of starships to prevent hull breaches, but he had never had the opportunity to use it.  
Rivin figured that if his race were attuned to the magical weave of the universe, then perhaps it was the closeness of this river of magical energy which had awakened him.  
To his surprise, as the ship continued onward, apparently letting its FTL engines recharge before another jump, the line crossed with another line, forming what was called a nexus. Rivin could feel the nexus as it passed, a pressure on senses he was unaware he had, confirming his suspicions. Such mundane things were forgotten however, when a moment later, a large winged, reptillian shape soared out of the actual essense of the ley line. Easily 100 feet from its serpentine head to its whip-like tail, the beast seemed to totally ignore the environmental rigors of deep space and with a wave of its hand the nexus flared into a towering portal. Rivin thought for a moment he could see a great sparking city of silver spires and flying sailboats, but too quickly the beast flew through the portal, which closed behind him.  
There was a noise behind him, an intake of breath, which caused Rivin to turn. Slightly taller than him was a noro, one of the squadron's newest pilots. The noro were very similar to humans, but had much paler skin, black eyes, were tall and thin with slightly oversized heads and instead of hair grew small black horns along where a human's eyebrows would be, as well as from the tops of their heads. They were also a race of powerful psychics. This one had shaved the usually numerous horns off its head, which marked her as female.  
"It is not often one sees such a display of casual power, is it?" the noro asked Rivin, who could have sworn that her voice was partially in his head. "Frightening and inspiring all at once."  
Rivin nodded and looked back out of the porthole. "I have never seen a dragon before. I assume that is what it was."  
"Indeed, a Great Horned dragon to be precise. One of the most powerful of their kind," the Noro turned toward Rivin with a curious smirk. "Hope with all your heart that this is as close as you get to a dragon's display of power."  
The pilot returned to her bunk and closed her eyes, seeming to meditate more than sleep. Rivin, with one last look at the nexus as the ship pulled away, returned to a fitful night of examining the supports holding up the bunk over his own.  
The next "morning" Green squadron, back up to full strength due to new transferred pilots, was hurriedly assembled in the pre-flight briefing room. Rivin was one of the first there, surrepticiously taking a seat near the back to hide eyes reddened from lack of sleep. Sipping at a hot thermos of caffienola to wake himself, he couldn't help but grin at the designation of the converted cargo hold as a pre-flight briefing room.  
Temporary metal partitions made three of the room's four walls in what had once been a minor cargo area. From what he could tell the FWC engineers had managed to turn the hold into at least six separate conference rooms and installed in the left-over area a heavy gravity autocannon turret. However, they had never quite scrubbed the cargo area clean of the smell of several decades of produce transportation.  
It made Rivin remember he had missed breakfast.  
The squadron was fully assembled, most too sleepy to chat with their neighbors. Dutch walked in a swiftly and placed a data disk in a tri-vid projector at the front of the room. A sphere appeared and expanded to six feet in circumference, showing the outer portion of a nearby system.  
"On the way home we have to make a little detour people," Dutch said, tapping in a few commands on a watch Rivin assumed was a computer. "Intel has cracked some of the files they downloaded from that listening post we took out. Data indicates that the Transgalactic Empire is planning to jump a valuable shipment of ours on the way to a rendezvous."  
A circle appeared inside the sphere on a small dot and brought it forward to dominate the floating globe.  
"This is the ForgeArrow, an independent runner ship that has moved some…sensitive…cargo for us from time-to-time. What it's carrying is none of our business. That it gets to the Delta Omicron system is our business."  
The ship displayed reminded Rivin of a large predatory fish he had seen at an aquarium once. It's sleek body was only disturbed by a pair of wide, sweeping wings, angled down and back, a large "pot belly" which appeared to be the cargo area, and several protruding weapons implacements. It wasn't much larger than a shuttle, making Rivin and the other members of Green Squadron wonder what it could be carrying that was so valuable.  
Dutch changed the 3-D map again, back to the system. "This is the Orivan System, part of the Orivan Cluster, which some of you know contains a massive black hole."  
Looks of concern passed between wingmen and an undercurrent of muttering began.  
"Now don't panic, we won't be going anywhere near the Orivan Singularity. The point is that the ForgeArrow will have to deactivate its gravity drive and make minute course adjustments so it can get to D.O."  
Dutch tapped at her watch again and a group of new dots appeared on the screen, highlighted in red against the backdrop of a huge speeding comet.  
"Here's the catch: This group of Kreeghor ships is hiding to jump the ForgeArrow from a doomed comet on its way to the singularity. We are going to beat them to the punch," she said with a feral grin.  
"What will the affect of the comet be on our shields and sensors?" asked the new noro pilot from the first row. Rivin noted that she looked like she had slept undisturbed for two or three nights.  
"Shields will very slowly degrade from the particle storm. The flight crews have adjusted your gravity wave sensors to compensate for the singularity. As for navigation, my advice is to stay out of the tail as much as possible," Dutch took in the whole room. "One more thing, sentients, and this is important. Do not attempt to use your missles in close proximity to that comet. With the fierce amount of matter its shedding toward the singularity there is no telling how far a missle will go before a random particle sets it off."  
Dutch went through the flight plan, drop and retrieval, all of which would be done at the edge of the system to stay out of sensor range. "We ride vacuum in half an hour people, shag it!"  
The pilots filed out of the room quietly, all business. Rivin was one of the last to leave, but as he headed toward the door Dutch intercepted him.   
"Yes Captain?"  
"I want you to take control of Two Flight. You got good piloting skills, I want to see what your command skills are like," Dutch said.  
"I'll do my best," Rivin said, snapping a salute.  
The two made the short jog to get into their flight suits and soon the twelve pilots were climbing into their individual fighters.  
Rivin circled the fighter twice, visually going through the pre-flight checklist in his head. He climbed into the cockpit and settled down as the main computer booted and downloaded essential flight data and resigned himself to doing what pilots hated the most: waiting.  
Five minutes before mission start time the pilots were given the go signal and began final liftoff procedures. Rivin, with a slightly expanded radio frequency access due to his position as Two Flight Leader, listened to flight command net chatter with interest.  
"Prepare docking bay for final launch preparations…"  
"Flight crew reports all fighters are in the green. Bridge flight command now has control…"  
"Navcomm, status?"  
"Go flight!"  
"Tac-comm, status?"  
"Go flight!"  
"Launch-comm, status?"  
"Go flight!"  
"Green Leader, you are cleared for mission launch. Final call?"  
"Go flight! Launch, launch, launch!" Rivin recognized Dutch's voice over the commnet and tensed himself for take-off.  
Within moments the ponderous outer bay doors slid down, sucking tiny bits of debris into the ether. In pairs the fighters eased out of the bay and rocketed clear of the converted transport.  
Rivin and Green Six, the noro whose name he kept reminding himself to get, lifted off in unison, from the deck. As they kicked in their thrusters the docking bay exit grew geometrically before them. Soon the two fighters pierced the eternal night to form up with the rest of the squadron.  
There were several whistles of appreciation throughout the squadron, along with a few gasps. Rivin looked up and to starboard and understood why. As the carrier-ship peeled away on a new trajectory Rivin saw that a good forty percent of visible space was taken up by the gravitational monstrosity known as the Omicron Singularity. A steady whirlpool of matter formed a slowly spinning disk around the black hole. Visible jets of plasma at least two light-years in length gushed out perpendicularly from the singularity. And curving slightly into the abyss at ninety degree angles were four pulsing ley lines, their paths undistorted by the massive gravity well.  
The entire squadron felt the pull of the singularity in their cockpits, a force tugging them slightly up and to starboard.  
"Orient yourselves with the singularity in our mark six position," Dutch ordered. The squadron wheeled about until the singularity was under their bellies, making gravity seem somewhat more normal in their cockpits, as though they were flying over a planet with weak gravity. It was a sobering reminder of the power of the cosmic beast so far away, yet so close.  
For nearly an hour the twelve sleek craft cut through space in radio silence, clustered close together so that if they were picked up by an enemy craft their numbers would be questionable. Soon a white-grey smudge began to grow in their front view ports. Rivin had, for some reason, assumed they would approach the comet from its side, as he had always seen them that way in the sky when he was a boy. But instead, the squadron was heading right into the center of its blazing tail. As the comet loomed closer it looked more like a dull star surrounded by a greyish, fuzzy corona.   
A new target appeared on the squadron's sensors, a red box indicating the position of the Kreeghor forces...assumed position, Rivin realized as he studied the targeting display. The comet's tail blinded the sensors of both those within and those without.  
As the squadron pierced deeper into the comet's tail the fighters began to be buffeted by the intensifying storm of matter shedding from the comet. Ice and dirt mainly, and except for a slight decrease in their shields, harmless. However Rivin knew the squadron had to act fast, or else the wake they were cutting through the tail would be visible to any Kreeghor who took time to look out of a viewport.  
Dutch's slow ascent toward the outer layers of the comet's tail was the signal to the rest of Green squadron that it was time to spring their attack. They formed up into three chevrons of four and boosted out of the storm of ice and dirt. The Transgalactic Empire's force was right where the squadron expected it to be.  
What they hadn't expected was that the Kreeghor would send a Smasher-class Cruiser, one of the empire's ships of the line, to handle the mission. At 600 feet in length, it bristled with gravity rail guns, missle launchers and laser cannons. It's main gun, a large lance-like protrusion jutting out of the upper hull, looked like the horn of some exotic fish. It had the power to core most FWC ships like an apple. It also carried a compliment of three squadrons of Fang fighters.  
Dutch swore a foul oath that Rivin caught, just barely, before she directed the squadron to go for the cruiser's docking bay. The squadron had the element of surprise, coming in from behind and to starboard of the massive cruiser, but Rivin knew that would not last long. It also didn't help that the hangar bay was positioned in the cruiser's bow.  
The fighters broke formation and fanned out, to make the TGE gunners have a harder time of it. Rivin took small comfort in the fact that the cruiser's commander dared not use missles this close to the comet as the ship's gravity rail guns began to rotate toward the oncoming Free World Council rebels.  
For a few moments, space was silent and serene as the twelve needle-like craft rushed toward the cruiser, as if they meant to pierce to the very heart of its crew. Then, as both fighters and the cruiser reached minimum firing range, space became a very deadly place.  
The cruisers gravity rail guns began producing a storm of white-hot flak, just as the squadron sent the same back. There was no targeting anything specific on the ship, there was hardly any targeting at all. The cruiser was hard to miss, and its shields were evenly distributed.  
It took six agonizingly long seconds before the squadron was within point-blank range of the cruiser. Its guns now had to settle for trying to pick off the nimble, weaving fighters.  
"What are we doin' Captain?" Rivin asked Dutch over the net, his flight peeling over the cruiser's starboard wing.  
"Just sweep your flight around to that hangar bay. The rest of us will keep pounding away and try not to get killed. If you can get in close enough use your missles. They should be safe."  
Rivin didn't even have time to acknowledge before the flight was passing the leading edge of the cruiser. Knowing he could not bank tight enough, Rivin cut his rear thrusters and, letting momentum carry the fighter forward, kicked in his maneuvering jets so that the craft rotated to face the bow of the enemy ship, while inertia kept it flying backward. The flight followed suit and then thrust in toward the hangar bay.  
And into the midst of the first squadron of Fang fighters in the process of scrambling to protect their ship.  
"Empty the tubes!" Rivin shouted, putting words to action as he held down the firing button for his missle launchers. The four fighters disgorged a long stream of plasma missles into the oncoming squadron and the gaping maw of the Smasher's hangar bay before the cruiser's crew desperately threw back up their front shields. About a third of the missles detonated amonst the emerging enemy squadron, sending them pinwheeling desperately for cover. The rest were gobbled up by the red glow of the cruiser's hangar bay as the flight split to the four winds to avoid ramming the enemy cruiser.  
As Rivin's flight merged with the wild, chaotic fray around the ship, a silver streak suddenly slowed to a crawl just a few hundred kilometers away.  
Most of the TGE fighters pinwheeled suddenly away from combat and made a line toward the new arrival. Rivin didn't have to check his sensors to realize that the ForgeArrow had arrived. 


	3. Icebound

chapter 2: riddle of stone and steel

            Riven had to give it to the pilot of the ForgeArrow, he was good. No sooner had the Kreeghor fighters oriented themselves toward the light freighter than the ship began whipping around the other side of the comet. Now, it was a race, with a squadron of Kreeghor fighters chasing the ForgeArrow toward the cover of the comet, Riven's flight chasing the Kreeghor fighters, the Smasher-Class Cruiser chasing Riven's flight, and the rest of Green Squadron chasing the Smasher-class Cruiser.

            Tactics seemed to have gone out of the viewport at some point, making Riven really wonder what was inside that ship.

            The little freighter was much faster than Riven would have thought. It turned seemingly on a dime and dove into the comet's corona, toward the surface of its irregular, five-mile diameter core. The Kreeghor pilots didn't even hesitate, plunging their fighters into the white, dusty maelstrom.

            Riven pitched his fighter in as well, trying to line up a shot on one of the trailing Kreeghor ships. "Remember! No Missiles!" Riven called out over the net. 

            Riven let loose a stream of gravity rail rounds that chewed at the enemy ship's shields. The enemy ship went into a spin to avoid the next burst he put out, but Riven spun counter to the spin and let loose another burst of high-velocity slugs. The Fang fighter's shields, already damaged from the earlier missile volley, collapsed and the rounds sheared off a wing. The fighter spun out of control toward the icy surface of the comet.

            Two more in Riven's flight downed yet another Kreeghor fighter. Then the mass of racing craft was plunging headlong toward the surface of the comet. The light freighter disappeared into what looked like a black line across its jagged, stormy surface. The kreeghor and the freedom fighters followed.

            Riven winced as the black scar rapidly filled his cockpit, then yawned open to reveal a dark, massive canyon of razor-sharp ice and rock. One of the Kreeghor fighters nicked a protrusion and careened wildly into the abyss, a bright flash in the distance the only marker of its final landing point.

            The fighters tore down the gouge in the asteroid's surface, kicking up small tornadoes of ice and snow in their wake. Soon, however, Riven noticed the Kreeghor fighters cutting back speed. 

            Looking at his own display, Riven keyed the rest of the flight. "I think they lost him. I'm gonna take a risk. Everybody hold far back."

            The rest of the flight slowed and Riven, knowing the four fighters did not have the firepower to take on nine of the Kreeghor's heavy fighters, went for another option.

            He fired everything he had slightly up and above the kreeghor squadron into the icy wall of the canyon. The results were spectacular.

            The canyon wall disintegrated and then became a flood of ice. Two Kreeghor fighters that did nearly escape were slammed into hard by the fighters behind them who were a little slower on the uptake. The canyon didn't leave much room for maneuvering, something Riven realized as the wall of crashing ice began to blot out everything else. He jerked hard on the yoke and prayed for clear sky above. He prayers were only partially answered.

            His fighter skidded across an outcropping more rock than ice. The speed and pressure blew his port shields and sent the small fighter into a spin. G-forces holding Riven back in his seat, he struggled to bring the small fighter under control as it spiraled out of the canyon. He was barely able to whip it between two towering, nightmarish peaks of ice, and was not so fortunate with a third. The bottom of his fighter was ripped to shreds and it was all he could do to set it down on the icy, unforgiving surface of the comet. 

            Riven took his time taking a deep breath, and then keyed the radio. Static.

            He was completely disoriented by his wild flight and only vaguely assumed the canyon was somewhere behind him. So he sat. And waited.

            Minutes seemed to drag into hours. The storm of ice particles were nearly deafening against his cockpit. He kept the environmental controls set low, barely warm enough, since he was unsure how much power he needed to conserve until a rescue came. Assuming there was one. 

Ice obscured the sky above and the terrain around him. And an occasional rumble reminded him that comets weren't the most stable of surfaces to land on.

After a while, Riven slept a fitful worried sleep, huddled into his flight suit.

A knock on his windshield woke him up. It was such an absurd notion that Riven at first tried to ignore it. But it came again…harder, more insistent.

Riven fought his way to alertness and saw a short, stocky figure outside his cockpit, knee-deep in snow it couldn't have topped four feet. The bulky spacer suit probably made it look stockier than it was. 

The being put his glove-covered palm against the cockpit and spoke, letting the vibrations of his voice carry through his suit to the cockpit.

"You gonna just sit there till dis thing falls inta that black hole up dere'? Or are ya gonna come wit me and git warmed?" The voice had a tinny quality, like it was more echo than actual sound, due to the way they were communicating.

Riven just nodded, checked the seals on his flight suit and grabbed out a spare package from the compartment behind his seat. Then, looking carefully at the mysterious rescuer, Riven reached slowly behind him and pulled out a long, glossy-black Hi-80 heavy laser rifle. The being didn't react in the least.

Finally, Riven forced sliding canopy forward and climbed out of the cockpit. The being stood with hands on hips, impatiently waiting for Riven to get used to the extremely light gravity of the comet.

"Don't do no jumpin' jacks boy, or ye'll be findin yerself in orbit!"

Riven nodded, carefully getting his legs under him. Then pulled a contra-grav pak out from behind the cockpit. Using a field that manipulates gravity, the device could allow one to fly or to walk with near normalcy on the lightest of gravitational bodies. 

Seeing he was ready to go, the small, stocky humanoid gave a rough gesture for Riven to follow him and began trudging through waist-deep snow of frozen ammonia and water-ice.

The diminutive humanoid churned a path through the tall drifts with determination. The pair circled about half-way around a craggy hill, tempestuous winds threatening to bowl them over one moment, or tear them from the surface into space the next. 

The jagged rip in the surface of the comet loomed just ahead. Rivin at first thought he had crashed much farther away than that...then realized that this canyon was just a branch off the main one in which the chase had taken place.

 As the two trudged up to the chasm, the sleek, greyish blue battered hull of the ForgeArrow rose majestically from its depths. It's ramp yawned open as the ship held unsteadily in the gale about four feet off the surface of the snowy landscape. Rivin activated the grav-pak and gracefully lighted up to the ramp. he then sat his bundle of supplies down, and held a hand toward the small humanoid. The being just crouched and leapt up onto the ramp next to him. 

No sooner were the two onboard than the ramp began closing behind them. Making a quick check of his suit's sensors to see if the air of the ship was breathable, Rivin popped the seals on his helmet and lifted it off, setting the helmet down on the deck next to his supplies. His rifle he kept shouldered. With a lot of grumbling and muttering, the small being next to him did the same. The first thing to come into view was a shaggy, red beard, followed by an equally shaggy, red mustache, ruddy cheeks, a hard nose and piercing black eyes under a heavy brow and bushy red eyebrows. The being make a great show of straightening out his beard and brushing away snowflakes that had fell onto it from removing his helmet. The being, a space dwarf if Rivin recalled correctly, looked him up and down and abruptly stuck out a stout, gloved hand.

 "Churt Goodhammer. Ship's engineer. I be the one who keeps this bucket of bolts together," he said. 

"Second Lieutenant Rivin Nebulo of the Free World Council," Rivin returned the handshake, wincing inwardly at Churt's powerful grip.

 "Well met, youngster," Churt looked him over again. "And don't be touchin nuthin' onboard that ain't yours, or you'll be goin' out a lot faster than ya came in. got it?" 

"Got it."

"Now to take you to go see the Captain." Churt reached up along a bulkhead and activated an intercom. "Got that pilot onboard. We can go now. Bringing him up to the bridge."

Churt gestured for Rivin to follow him and stomped his way toward the bow of the ship. The two went up an access ladder two decks before stepping onto the small, utilitarian bridge of the ForgeArrow. 

The compact bridge had a wrap-around viewport, with a pilot and co-pilot station against the front control panel, which came between the seats as well. There were two chairs along the right wall, and one chair in a cramped alcove of screens and panels in the left. Only the pilot's chair was currently occupied. As Rivin peered around the cockpit the pilot's chair rotated toward him. Sitting in it was a 30'ish human male, dark complection, black hair straight and in a pony tail over one shoulder, a well-groomed mustache and thin, but fit, build. He wore dark red, military-cut slacks and a white shirt that also reminded Rivin of the military.

 The man stood up, and Rivin saw the two of them were about equal in height. He gave Rivin a warm handshake with his right hand and made a sweeping gesture to take in the bridge with another. 

"Welcome aboard the ForgeArrow. I'm Captain Ty Darion and this is my baby."

 "I really appreciate the rescue Captain," Rivin said, returning the handshake. "I really doubted I'd get off that rock."

 Captain Darion looked Rivin over for a second then nodded over and behind Rivin's shoulder.

"Meet my first mate, Lani Everlight."

 Rivin turned around, startled to see a woman step from the shadows behind him. She was stunning, about 5'10", luxurious red hair in waves down to her shoulderblades, and startling light blue eyes. She nodded to him curtly, and stepped forward. As she stepped more into the light Rivin could see the tell-tale points of her ears and her angular, perfectly symmetrical beauty...and a face that at the same time seemed as youthful as a child's, but as old as the stars themselves.

"Askerla lumnovia tylsina de galtalia," Rivin intoned, bowing slightly.

 The woman raised an eyebrow. "You speak elven very well, human. It is an honor to meet you, also."

 Rivin looked over the rest of her. She wore a tight bodysuit that seemed part armor and part leather, with an abundance of straps, buckles and belts. On her side, she wore a slim, curved sword with intricate patterns along the hilt and guard. A silver amulet caught the light, silver leaves entwined around a rectangular sapphire. 

"Lani there's not used to us spacers speaking Dragone...I mean Elven," the Captain corrected himself with an apologetic glance at Lani. "She's not from around here."

Lani cast Ty a sharp look at that comment and then settled herself gracefully into a chair behind the captain's. 

"Well," Rivin said, tearing his eyes away from the beautiful elf. "As I said, I am very grateful to you all for picking me up."

"Don't go gushing out yer thanks all over the deck jes' yet," Churt grunted. "That Smasher is still up there looking for us. And we're not exactly in tip-top shape."

"Churt's right. We took a couple hits when I dropped the shield's during that chase." 

"Why'd you drop your shields?" 

"We had to, it was the only way to phase into that canyon wall long enough for those fighters to pass us by." 

"You've got a phase emitter on this ship?!" Phase emitters were almost exclusively found on fighters from Phaseworld, a massive, intergalactic, interdimensional trading port set between the Consortium of Civilized Worlds and the Transgalactic Empire. Rivin had never heard of one being onboard anything but specialized star fighters made there. 

"Yeah, cost about as much as the ship," the captain shrugged. "And it will be a while before we can use it again. In the meantime, we've got to slip by that cruiser and find a place to set down and make repairs." 

The three shipmates then began to throw out a dizzying array of plans and schemes that Rivin could hardly keep up with. Even though Ty Darion was the ship's captain, it seemed that rank didn't matter much in this discussion. Plans were just as liberally tossed out of the running with comments thrown at the originator like "T'zee-faced star hopper" and "vac-brained kreeghor lover." Finally the three, with some comments squeezed in from Rivin, settled into a plan that might work...


	4. Falling Towards Gomorrah

Chapter 3: Falling Toward Gomorrah  
  
Artesia strode three steps behind and to the left of Axis Doombringer's imposingly broad back. While she liked to view herself as an equal, at least, to Axis, here such pride would be counterproductive. Years of experience had taught her which battles were worth fighting and which held no measurable gain.  
  
Their boots rang in unison off the glossy metal deck plates of the Emperor's Fang, a Kreeghor Dreadnaught-Class battleship, and the largest warship in known space. It was three miles of armored hull and deadly weapon systems. It was fast, despite its seemingly ungainly size, and it carried more fighters than most carriers. It was the ultimate symbol of the Emperor's will.   
  
Well, one of the ultimate symbols, Artesia thought, catching a glint of light off of Axis' Invincible Guardsman insignia.   
  
The mismatched pair stopped inside a severe, spartan, waiting area. The walls the same monotonous black as the floor, polished to a high metal sheen, as was the ceiling, with recessed light panels glowing softly from where the floor met the walls. On one side a bulkhead appeared to be missing, threatening to suck occupants of the room into cold, harsh space. In truth the transparitanium used was just that clean, that flawless.   
  
Axis and Artesia stepped toward the view port, looking out at a charred, blackened planet below. Brolanti's Gain had once been a lush, green and blue farm world. It had been productively settled by a majority of agricultural-minded wolfen and humans under the flag of the Empire. While not one of the major breadbaskets, the planet had done well for itself. However, Brolanti's Gain did not stay a little paradise for long. Soon after it became a booming farm world the planet's primary, Arsini Proxima, began running out of the fuels that kept its nuclear fires burning. The star expanded in a matter of days from a largish yellow star into a bloated and corpulent red giant, content for the time being to burn what was left of its hydrogen supplies and its growing abundance of heavy metals in its misshapen nuclear core. Eventually, even that fuel would wear out, and the outer shell of the star would explode in a supernova into nearby space, leaving nothing but a small, moon-sized white dwarf and a massive nebula which would one day foster the birth of new stars and new planetary systems. In a couple million years, there would be no Brolanti's Gain.  
  
Two of the inner planets of the system had been devoured by the expansion of Arsini Proxima. The remaining two inner planets, including Brolanti's Gain, were burnt to a cinder by the slowly dying star. Only the system's two gas giants and their lifeless moons were unphased by the sudden transition.  
  
The Emperor's Fang sat quietly on the night side of the blackened farm planet, orbiting near the one important asset that remained to make the planet valuable to the Empire, the Invincible Guardsman training academy and scientific laboratory. The sprawling eight-mile space station was known to the rest of the Three Galaxies to be an important, but strategically useless, observatory monitoring the dying star system for scientific data. In truth, a full 65 percent of the station actually was dedicated to observational studies. A lie always hides a bit more quietly beneath a cozy layer of truth.  
  
Artesia looked at Axis out of the corner of her eye. He appeared lost deep in thought, a common activity for Axis, and one that set him apart from many of his fellow Kreeghor. She could only assume that he was remembering his own training at the academy, or perhaps the secret oaths of service he had taken there. She had heard many of the rumors about the brutal training regimen there, one of the more common being that students were forced to assemble an energy pistol in an open airlock without the benefit of a space suit. The faster they got it done, the faster they were allowed back inside.  
  
For a Kreeghor, Artesia thought, it was not so bad a task. Their supernaturally sturdy bodies could survive vacuum for a few minutes. Even a Silhouette, like herself could. But for a human or a wolfen more than 15-30 seconds would mean severe injury or death.  
  
Her musings were distracted by footsteps echoing down the long hall they had walked a few moments before. Axis gestured to her urgently and she began to mutter a short incantation. Before the source of the footsteps came into view the shadows of the room seemed to come alive and draw Artesia into them.  
  
Axis, confident his partner was hidden, squared his shoulders and stood with more bearing than usual as into the room, with characteristic bluster and drama, strode Sythh Kalis, a fellow invincible guardsman.  
  
Sythh, a Seljuk, topped Axis by more than a head. Like the Kreeghor, the Seljuk were a reptilian species, but the two species varied dramatically. Where the Kreeghor's bodies were covered with rigid, thick, scales that served almost as an exoskeleton, the Seljuk's skin was a smooth, snake-like texture. Seljuk were descendants of a powerful predatory saurian race from their planet's ancient past, bipedal tyrannosaurus rex's with twice the strength of an adult dragon, and the honor of a Cosmo Knight.  
  
Axis knew that while many Kreeghor talked honor, the Seljuk lived it. For the Kreeghor, an unarmed foe was the best kind. It was said that a Seljuk would not only refuse to attack an unarmed foe, but would loan their enemy the money to decently arm themselves…and at a low interest rate.  
  
It was no surprise, then, that very few Seljuk were members of the Transgalactic Empire. Those who were members were born as part of small communities or colonies the Kreeghor had conquered long ago. Their home world and most of their race were solid, and formidable, members of the Consortium of Civilized Worlds, the Empire's most hated nemesis.  
  
But Sythh was a decorated member of the Invincible Guardsmen, and Axis respected that. On no less than two occasions Sythh had covered Axis's back in pitched battle and Axis had grudgingly admitted to himself that had he the Cosmic Forge in his back pocket, he would have felt no safer than he did in those moments.  
  
Unfortunately, Sythh was rash and unimaginative. He believed that through sheer force alone one could crush any enemy. Axis knew that one day a clever enemy would end Sythh's life.  
  
"Greetings Axis Doombringer. I knew you to be present when I saw the star's hesitate to twinkle, lest they risk your displeasure," Sythh bowed in honor.  
  
"Greeting Sythh Kalis. I knew of your arrival by the darkening of space, for surely even the universe itself hides because it fears to owe you anything, especially your destiny," Axis replied, completing the Seljuk tradition of honoring a worthy warrior with expansive boasts of his or her power.  
  
The Seljuk chuckled and grasped forearms with the smaller Kreeghor. Several of Axis's arm scales cracked under the pressure of the vice-like grip and Axis knew he'd have to see a healer for the bruised arm, but also knew that the Seljuk would not dishonor him by holding back any of his formidable strength.  
  
"I don't see that spying wench of yours around anywhere," The Seljuk grinned, looking around the chamber. "Did you finally get tired of her and space her, or did you find one of her kind to breed her and send her home where she should be?"  
  
Axis knew well and good that the Seljuk, whether by smell or some form of enhanced sight, already knew Artesia was in the room. He could almost feel her stiffen at the insults.  
  
He never did understand why she insisted on being in on the meetings invisibly, when most if not all of the guardsmen knew she was there. But, as she predicted, none of them ever dared comment on her presence, or confronted Axis about bringing her.  
  
Sythh Kalis stood for a while in silence, staring down at the charred planet. He sighed, a whistling-like noise, and turned to face Axis.  
  
"You know what you plan has risks," he said. "Many things could go wrong with this plan of yours."  
  
Axis definitely thought he felt Artesia stiffen at that.   
  
"I have no doubt things will unfold as we have foreseen," Axis assured the massive saurian. There, that ought to quiet her for a while, he thought.  
  
"I doubt your mental prowess about as much as I'd doubt your physical prowess, friend," Kalis said, nodding in deference. "Just be sure that the goals of your allies and your own are the same. Or at the very least, they do not conflict."  
  
"The others come," Axis replied, sweeping his hand across the view port as a spiny, fish-like shuttle swept under the view port.   
  
Kalis sighed inwardly, walking to a non-descript wall. His badge glowed faintly and the wall disappeared. Moving to the table he activated three-dimensional maps and graphs and charts and figures over a large, glossy black metal table. As a group of invincible guardsmen containing a half-dozen species flooded the room, a shadow slipped into the far corner.  
  
The rest of the invincible guardsmen pointedly paid no attention to that shadow as Axis began to speak.  
  
While he laid out his plans he wondered to himself about Artesia's presence. It was symbolic, he knew. But of what?   
  
There were two possibilities, he thought. One was that she was a symbol of his power. None of the other guardsmen would bring a person not of the Order to the gatherings. Especially one whose most noteworthy ability was the skill of using scraps of information to paint all too accurate pictures of someone's future plans. Perhaps, she was a way of telling them just how much power and respect he wielded. He liked that.  
  
Or, it could be, he admitted, that it was a show of her power and influence. And he did not like that one bit.  
  
But, he sighed inwardly, knowing Artesia the answer was probably both.  
  
"This is crazy, you know that, right?" Lani asked Ty as she strapped herself into the co-pilot's seat.   
  
"And that's exactly why they'll never see it coming," the captain of the ForgeArrow quipped. "Right kid?"  
  
Ty threw a grin over his shoulder at Rivin, who was manning the weapons console. Rivin nodded and put on his best grin, hoping he didn't look as ill as he felt.   
  
"We ready back there Churt?" Ty asked into the intercom. A small holographic projection appeared on his console of the grizzled dwarf's face, covered in soot behind a pair of goggles.  
  
"No, but we might as well go anyway," the dwarf grunted. "Just remember, we got two, count' em, two uses of this phase emitter and it's burned out till we can put into port. So don't screw up!"  
  
Before Ty could respond, the gruff dwarf slapped off the connection. Ty reached to console and pulled up a wire with a small plug attached to it. Reaching behind his ear with practiced ease, he slid the plug into his cybernetic universal headjack.  
  
Instantly, readouts of the ship's status and all major instruments were broadcast directly onto his retina, in perfect focus with the rest of the cockpit. The ship's computer softly intoned pertinent data directly to his inner ear. He reached out and touched controls in mid-air only he could see, twisting a dial here, pressing a button or throwing a lever there. He was, for all intents and purposes, one with the ship.   
  
Lani, loathe to ever getting a cybernetic implant, did her part through an old-fashioned control panel, and was somewhat relieved when she saw Rivin doing the same.  
  
Rivin, meanwhile, was impressed with the arsenal available on the runner ship. Besides a pair of heavy laser cannons facing forward (used by the pilot or co-pilot) it also had dorsal and belly plasma turrets each with 10 defensive mini-missiles that could be fired from his panel or controlled directly by gunners in the turrets, as well as two long-range missile launchers, two concealed anti-matter cruise missiles and military-grade shields. Rivin whistled at the power outputs.  
  
"They let you bring this thing into port?" Rivin asked, incredulously.  
  
"The ports we go to don't ask questions," Lani chuckled. "A few credits in the right place handle the 'civilized' ports we put in at."  
  
"Don't feel bad kid," Ty grinned. "Your people just pay me more than they do you."  
  
The ship lifted gracefully off the floor of the deep ice trench and began to navigate it at increasing speed. Ty waited until it took him directly under the Kreeghor battleship before arrowing straight up at the ship's belly.  
  
The ForgeArrow ripped off of the comet as though shot from a cannon, and the four Fang fighters escorting her swept in hurriedly to intercept.   
  
On the ship's bridge the captain called for battle stations and gave an order to raise shields against the apparently suicidal little vessel. But it was too late.  
  
ForgeArrow cut under the shields moments before they were raised and then slid into the warship's belly seemingly like a ghost.  
  
The insubstantial vessel made a beeline for the ship's engineering section, which Churt had guaranteed had a large enough space to become substantial.  
  
Had they lived, the engineering crew of the Smasher-class cruiser would have certainly told their children and their children's children about the sight they saw that day. The ForgeArrow, like some space-faring predator, solidified in the air over the main reactors, barely missing catwalks and girders alike, still shaking off frost from the comet below. They stood in stunned awe for about two seconds. But then, Rivin put the ForgeArrow's arsenal to work.  
  
Trying to pay no attention to where he was, Rivin thumbed off volleys of defensive missiles and plasma blasts haphazardly into the sensitive engineering deck of the enemy vessel.  
  
Finally, as the ForgeArrow swung around to face the reactors, he loosed its two anti-matter cruise missiles and winced instinctively. It takes a cruise missile less than a second to travel over a mile from launcher to target. Faster than the human eye can usually follow. The ForgeArrow launched hers at the Smasher's reactors from about 50 feet away. No time for a normal human to engage the phase emitter to avoid the resulting explosion, but with his link to his ship, Ty had programmed his vessel to go into phase the moment the ship fired its cruise missiles, and it's computer moved even faster than the missiles did.  
  
Ty slammed the thrust forward, rocketing out of the engineering deck as it became engulfed in flames and titanic explosions. The ship emerged from right between two blazing white thrusters, quickly leaving the cruiser behind.  
  
Meanwhile, the forces of nature ran wild in the Smasher's engineering deck, beginning a chain reaction that spread throughout every deck of the ship, every nook and cranny. For a moment, the ship's superalloy hull actually expanded to contain the explosion, but the end result was the inevitable atomization of the massive warship.  
  
Unfortunately for the ForgeArrow, the phase emitter only lasted a few meters beyond the hull of the cruiser, and the little ship caught the full brunt of the Smasher's destruction. Also, unfortunately for the ForgeArrow, it couldn't operate its shields while the phase emitter was active. The cruiser's blast slapped the smaller ship away like a leaf in a storm. The electromagnetic pulse was so powerful that the ForgeArrow's hardened circuits couldn't handle it. A surge of feedback looped through the system, right up the jackwire and directly in to Ty Darion's brain.  
  
Ty convulsed suddenly, spasming as he grabbed at the headjack as it seemed to broadcast liquid fire into his brain. His synaptic impulses lit up like a roman candle, and the ForgeArrow listened. It tried to speed up, slow down, bank, dive, fire its main cannons and jump to Faster-than-Light travel all in the same instant.   
  
Ty succeeded in getting the jack out of his head, but slumped in the seat ineffectually. Lani scrambled at the secondary controls, screaming in frustration, ignoring a sudden litany of colorful dwarven curses coming through the intercom from engineering.  
  
"Kid! Grab the main controls!" She shouted, her own hands full at the moment.  
  
Rivin rushed across the bridge and hauled Captain Darion's twitching form out of the chair, and then slid in himself. At the removal of the jack, the console had reverted to conventional use and the smooth panels flipped over, revealing standard controls.  
  
Lani opened her mouth to give Rivin some instructions, but before she could even gather her thoughts he had leveled the ship out and sorted out the cacophony of confused commands the ship was trying to process. That struck her as odd. The ForgeArrow's control set-up had been designed specifically for and by Ty and there was nothing similar, that she knew of, in known space.  
  
But that was a problem for another time. Right now, the ForgeArrow was speeding in-system, and as systems crashed her control panel turned more and more a threatening red hue.  
  
"We have to set her down!" Lani yelled over the tumult of alarms and beeping, trilling warnings.  
  
Rivin nodded, "Just scout out a place and I'll set her down."  
  
Lani flipped through the holographic system map and centered on the fourth planet.  
  
"Put us on this heading," she said, transferring the coordinates to his console. "Planet called GM-4. Standard atmosphere and gravity."  
  
Rivin nodded again and directed the ship toward its destination.  
  
It took about three hours for the ForgeArrow to close in on the system's lone habitable planet. During that time the main computer core had crashed, and had taken the artificial gravity system with it. Lani had taken Ty and placed him in the ship's small, two-bed medical bay and strapped him down securely before propelling herself through the zero-gee back to the cockpit. She had taken over primary controls for most of the flight once things had gotten settled down, and Rivin worked as co-pilot. Both had grim looks on their faces. Without the contra-gravity system they'd have to enter the planet's thick atmosphere in a way that hadn't been common in at least a thousand years.  
  
"Okay," Lani sighed in resignation. "Give me an entrance angle, speed and a nice soft, huge stretch of flat land."  
  
Rivin panned through the data and transmitted the information directly into the computer.  
  
"Looks good," Lani approved. "Raise our shields and hold onto your intestines."  
  
Lani rolled the ship until the green, gray world filling the cockpit was under the ship, then pitched the nose up so that all they could see were stars and a soft glow from the planet's horizon.  
  
"Firing retros," she said. Then pressed a button and held on. The ship jerked convulsively for a few moments and then pitched wildly.  
  
"Aw Hell…." Rivin muttered, looking down at the controls.  
  
Lani looked over at him wide-eyed as she corrected the ship's entry angle. "What?"  
  
"That was it for the retros."   
  
"Great."  
  
Rivin went to quick work, recalculating their entry angle for their speed, about twice that they should be coming in at.  
  
Lani looked at the computations. "We can't. There's no way I'll bleed enough speed."  
  
Rivin looked over at her as the ship began to rumble against the outer edges of the atmosphere. "See that lake I highlighted?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Ever skip stones across a pond?"  
  
"You're joking."  
  
Rivin shook his head. "Far from it. At the speed we'll be hitting, and at the right angle, it should whack a LOT of our inertia, but you've got to bleed as much speed as you can first, and hit it at the right angle."  
  
Lani shrugged. "I can't pull that off."  
  
Rivin shook his head more fiercely. "Rise and fly!"  
  
Lani hurriedly undid her straps and pushed off the pilot's seat. But, used to artificial gravity, she didn't compensate for the effect of acceleration and inertia as the ship hit a real atmosphere and crashed to the deck behind the chair, sliding toward the back of the cockpit.  
  
Rivin flung himself at the pilot's seat and angled himself in, hauling the straps over each shoulder and yanking the ship's nose up.  
  
He used every trick he knew as the ship plunged like a shooting star into the planet's atmosphere, and invented a few new ones. Coming in almost totally belly first, it was a battle to keep the craft's tail from slewing from one side to the other. The speed indicator plummeted, but didn't seem to be plummeting nearly fast enough.  
  
The ForgeArrow punched through the cloud layer like a bullet and Rivin waited until it was only a couple miles off the surface before kicking in the main engines and pushing the ship forward horizontally. The sudden change in vectors bled a huge amount of the ship's speed and angled the craft toward a massive lake.  
  
A hundred fires sparked in the lush green and purple forests behind the ship, and over a more barren desert it left a strip of rugged glass in its wake.   
  
Finally, Rivin hauled up on the nose, one more time, giving the planet the ship's belly once again, then leveled her out exactly even with the lake, descending at a 30 degree angle. Just at the moment of impact on the lake, he activated the main thrusters again and literally bounced the ship once, twice, three times across the surface of the water, instantly flash-boiling a couple million gallons to steam.  
  
Kicking the shields to full power to the ship's belly, Rivin led the ForgeArrow into a soft grassy plain. The ship slid on its shields for two solid miles in a bone-jarring landing that plowed a 30-foot deep, 100-foot wide rip across the soft earth. In a fountain of superheated purple grass, exploding earth and quite a bit of bedrock the ForgeArrow finally skewed about 45 degrees to starboard and came to a gentle stop.  
  
Rivin took a long-held breath and looked back at Lani, who, to his surprise, appeared to be adhered to the floor on a sheet of yellowish goop. She looked up at him and grinned.  
  
"Now THAT was a landing!" 


End file.
